Vampires Don't Sparkle But
by luvscharlie
Summary: Hermione is exiled to Romania to guard a historical figure, who is under attack from rabid vampire-obsessed teenagers. Viktor finds her there. Viktor/Hermione, but Count Dracula steals the show.


Vampires Don't Sparkle and They're a Real Bitch to Live With by Luvscharlie

* * *

Warnings: A fabulously gay vampire (whom this writer is in love with), sex, oral, voyeurism (sort of), crack and a bit of Twilight bashing that was sort of unintentional but happened, nonetheless

A/N: Originally written for the 2010 hp_porninthesun exchange on Live Journal where the request was for Hermione to be working in an unpopular museum that no one ever visits, a bit of plot (yeah, if any plot appeared, it was totally by accident), a happy ending, believable character interactions (LOL, yeah, erm…), well written smut (I tried my best! I liked it) and a fic that must be Hermione centric.

And because I feel the need to explain myself a bit, there's some Twilight bashing in here that was kind of necessary for the plot, but in fairness, I actually do not hate Twilight; however, I imagine Hermione would find it to be utter rubbish.

* * *

It really wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Hermione had made good marks. That was a fucking understatement—she was top of her class, just you go and ask anyone—well, don't ask that Brown girl. She's a jealous bitch. Hermione had been a war hero, not that the papers ever gave her any credit. She'd even been called the cleverest witch of her age, by none other than Sirius Black.

And do you want to know where all of those attributes got a girl?

Want to know where someone with that much potential ended up? Here.

Right smack in the middle of fucking nowhere.

"Ooh, Miss Granger, there's a museum out in Romania that needs a witch of your capabilities to make sure that no one destroys such valuable artefacts. It will also give you a chance to keep an eye on the locals and report back to us the level of… erm… threat that is there. We have heard rumours that are troubling." So said Minister Shacklebolt. Troubling? Really? That's what he called it. She had to give the man credit. He made this sound like a slamming good job. She'd accepted immediately, anxious to get away from England and the awkwardness of being around Ron after their relationship hadn't gone quite as planned. Six years into it, they'd simply decided to call it quits. They were friends; they'd always be that, and she loved him dearly. But, as a romantic duo, they simply didn't work. And she thought that perhaps a change of scenery for her, and a London-free-of-Hermione for him, would be a good thing.

And it might have been, if she hadn't been sent out to this ridiculous museum to guard artefacts that no one wanted to see. Want to know why no one wanted to see them? Those 'valuable artefacts' did not exist. Nothing like being put in a place to make sure that no one actually wandered into the museum that Count Dracula had made his home.

Not that the need to be guarded was the Count's fault. No, there were teenagers to thank for his exile to the museum basement. It really was the only place he was safe from their relentless pursuits of the "one true vampire". Teens had started by ripping apart some town in the United States convinced there was a family of vampires there that—wait for it—cause really it only got funnier every time she thought of it—_sparkled_. Then when they'd come up empty-handed they'd set their sights on Romania, "where it all began."

Teenagers and vampires. She couldn't comprehend the attraction, herself.

But after word came from the United States, the Ministry felt it imperative to get involved. Fucking Shacklebolt. She'd like to plant her highest spiked heel somewhere in the middle of his left arse cheek for convincing her to work out here where the only bit of company she ever had was the skeleton of the brontosaurus that filled the museum's atrium. Poor old girl was missing a good few of her bones. Besides, it was only a front so that people might believe this was a real museum, not just a building that housed a vampire in the basement. Of course, now, to be fair, he was a famous vampire, and quite important to Transylvanian history. Yes, it was _technically_ Romania, but don't let the locals hear you say that. She'd made that mistake upon her arrival and was treated to a lecture that put Professor Binns to shame, both in tedium and in length.

But Hermione could have cared less about Count Dracula's popularity or his importance—okay, maybe a little bit. He was a valuable member of history that could not be replaced and yada, yada, yada—she'd said this spiel to herself a million times in order to convince herself to stay and not demand to be transferred elsewhere. Because she hated to fail at anything, and leaving would feel like a failure. And well, she liked the history behind the legend, but the Count himself was rather an arse.

Still, Shacklebolt cared about the Count's safety enough to send her to Romania, and at a rather nice salary, too. It seemed there was a new vampire trend rapidly sweeping across the world, and bringing with it a group of fanatics determined to hunt down and find Count Dracula. They were convinced that if they put the Count out in sunlight he would sparkle and their ridiculous story of sparkling vampires (don't even ask—Hermione shuddered at the level of that kind of nonsense) would be given a bit of credence and… she didn't even know. They were teenagers, and she'd stopped trying to apply logic to anything teens did a long time ago. Her confidence in them had waned around the time she'd listened to a teenage Muggle cousin who'd convinced her to just try waxing her legs, cause really, it didn't hurt _at all_. After that, she'd decided teenagers could not be trusted and really knew nothing. Other than how to convince unsuspecting individuals to inflict untold amounts of unwarranted pain upon themselves… cause that fucking wax hurt!

The museum was mostly (translate: _always_) deserted. Once you've seen one set of dinosaur bones, repeated visits weren't all that necessary. The only person who ever showed up was Mr. Weasley, who had come at least twice a week since she'd been transferred, in hopes that she might turn her back long enough for him to shimmy up the skeleton and "inspect" it closer. And oh, how he had tried… once… before she'd overreacted and hexed him. _Hey, a girl gets assigned to guard a vampire and a dinosaur, and friendships go out the window when that dinosaur is threatened… or maybe they just get a little trigger happy on the wand… or something_. Truth be known, that time he'd shown up right as the sun went down, and she'd feared that the museum's true secret might be revealed. This mission was classified as top secret, and she took her job, no matter how ridiculous she felt it was at the moment, rather seriously.

But anyway.

Now, even Mr. Weasley didn't come to see her. Not that he didn't want to. Give that man an "O" for persistence! It was just that after that whole hexing incident, not to mention the 'Ron and Hermione aren't together anymore' debacle, Mrs. Weasley had forbidden it. It seemed the hex had been the final straw in crushing her belief that Hermione was still a good girl.

So, alas, most of her days were filled with just her and Henrietta. Don't judge. If you spent all day with a skeleton, the least you could do was name it. At least that was Hermione's way of thinking. Besides, Count Sleepy, spent his days slumbering in the basement and was little company at all.

Although, Count Sleepy was much more preferable to who he became in his waking state: Count Demanding. _Get me this; get me that; no, not that kind, the other one; I don't like being here; my castle is far better; and why can't that stupid book go away so I don't have to hide anymore, and whine, whine, whine and bitch, bitch, bitch._

He was always complaining about something. But the thing he complained about most was that stupid book from which the current rash vampire hysteria had sprung. Hermione had read a portion of _that book_ before she'd thrown it away in disgust. Even she had to agree with him on that one—the book _did_ need to go away. Far, far away. And while she was vehemently against burning books, typically, in this case, she'd make an exception. An idiot girl, vegetarian vampires, 'if you don't love me, I just might as well die'—yeah, at least as kindling, it would have some sort of purpose.

Now, there was only Henrietta and Count Whiny-Arse to talk to… and he rarely came up from the basement because she was simply too _inferior_ to merit _his_ conversation.

Hermione didn't get many opportunities to leave either. She had a flat connected to the museum which bloody Shacklebolt had arranged, so she could be with her charge at all times.

Human companionship. Oh, how she missed it.

Well, there had been the man who delivered the blood from the local blood bank every Friday, but he refused to talk to her. He dropped off his delivery and made his way out of there as quickly as possible no matter how many times Hermione tried to engage him in conversation. She couldn't really blame him. She suspected most museums didn't require weekly blood deliveries.

In short, Hermione hated it here. Henrietta couldn't, and the Count wouldn't, discuss with her the pros and cons of updating the texts of _Hogwarts: A History_, a task she was debating taking on.

It was lonely in Transylvania. _She_ was lonely.

Until…

Hermione was just getting the museum ready to close for the night when she heard the rare sound of the bell on the door chiming to announce a visitor's entrance. She rushed toward the door, prepared to give her usual, but rarely needed, spiel about how they were closing and to come back tomorrow to see the wonders (not! The only wonder in this farce of a place would be tucked into his coffin fast asleep at that time.) of the museum. She looked up prepared to give the speech and her breath caught.

_It was him._ Dear Merlin, she hadn't seen him in ages… not since. Could it have been that long? She guessed so. Not since Bill and Fleur's wedding, oh so many years ago, had she set eyes upon Viktor Krum… and there he was… smiling at her in the doorway.

"Viktor," she said in a voice that sounded more like a sigh than she was comfortable with.

"Hello, Hermione."

It surprised her how much his English had improved over the years. She fought desperately for something to say, but her brain seemed to freeze over. Fucking Shacklebolt—this was probably his fault too for only giving her a dinosaur to converse with for months—now her people skills were all stunted. Before she was able to stop her hateful tongue from betraying her, out of her mouth came this: "Merlin, you look tasty!"

_Holy God, did I just say that?_

Not that the statement wasn't accurate. Oh, it was. The years had been kind to Viktor Krum. The long career he'd had in professional Quidditch had kept him firm and fit… and did she mention firm, 'cause that arse was just—she shook her head trying to clear away such thoughts. Her face heated up in horror at the words that she had uttered. In an attempt to do damage control, she took a deep breath and said, "I meant you look nice."

"And tasty?"

"Could we forget I said that?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"We might be able to. Over dinner. From the hours on the door, it seems I've come too late for the grand tour, yes?"

"Yes—No—Yes—" She took another breath and gave herself a mental shake. This was going terribly. She really had to get some human companionship or a dog or something. She had no idea where the old Hermione Granger had gone, but she was becoming desperate to find herself again. "I mean, yes, you are too late for a tour."

_Oh, good. That sounded relatively like her normal voice._

Viktor broke into her thoughts. "So, you will have dinner with me?"

"Of course," Hermione said, recovering her composure. "I'd love to have dinner with you." Then she remembered her little "problem". "Erm, Viktor, would you mind waiting for just a minute? There's something I need to do first."

"Of course," Viktor replied with a polite nod.

Hermione walked calmly and gracefully until she rounded the corner out of Viktor's line of sight, and then raced for the basement at breakneck speed. She took a modicum of care on the steep, dark stairwell, then flew madly across the dirt floor. There was a groan when she lifted the lid of the coffin and lit her wand over the Count's head.

"Go away," the Count said. "It is not yet time for me to rise and go about maiming and conquering. I need five more minutes, Mother." And with nothing akin to vampirishness, he popped his thumb in to his mouth and rolled over, waving her away like an annoying bug.

"You're right. It's not. But I needed to tell you that your blood is in the ice box and you'll have to fend for yourself tonight. And for Merlin's sake, you're centuries old, take your thumb out of your mouth. You look ridiculous!"

The Count batted his eyes, removed his thumb guiltily from his mouth and wiped it on his shirt, before shoving Hermione's wand out of his face. "Where will you be? Are you going to be in the bathtub again, and you don't want me to know? Because I told you my walking in there while you were doing that thing with the pink, buzzing penis-shaped-stick was a _complete_ accident." The Count's smirk did not go unnoticed. _The Prat!_

The memory of that unfortunate incident was not one Hermione wanted to relive again… ever. "No! I have a date. And I told you to never bring that up again."

"A date? A date with the pink stick?" He 'tsked' at her. "I really do not think that counts as a date?"

"No!" Hermione stamped her foot to punctuate her protest.

"With a boy? A real, live one?" The Count gasped and climbed from his coffin with a speed that he was normally far too lazy to muster. "Or better yet, a dead one—because I haven't seen one of those in ever so long, and I do so desire to have a tryst of my own."

"You don't have to sound so surprised!" Hermione rushed forward in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the Count from climbing the stairs. "And you stay away from him. This one's mine!"

The Count refused to be deterred. He was rather strong and had no problem making his way to the top of the stairs, even with Hermione hanging onto his back and beating him about the head in an attempt to slow his progress. "I told you to stay away from him," she said, her fist connecting with the Count's head and shoulders after each word.

The Count eased the door that led from the basement into the museum proper open and forced Hermione down from his back. "If you keep making so much noise, he is going to come and investigate. Your dear Minister would be very distressed to hear this, I think."

_Damn him and his logic!_ Hermione resigned herself to the fact that the Count would not be deterred until he got a peek at Viktor Krum. "Don't you dare let him see you," she hissed.

"You speak as though you do not think I know how to be subtle," the Count said.

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared.

"Subtlety is overrated," the Count said in his own defence, and peeked his head around the corner. "Oh, my. This one _is_ quite tasty. Are you certain he likes girls because I could show him a— OWWWWW!"

The Count shrieked as Hermione stomped down on his toe. "You'll show him nothing!"

All the noise he'd made had alerted Viktor, whose rapidly approaching footsteps had her shoving the Count back towards the basement.

"Hermione, is everything okay?"

"Yes, Viktor," she cried. "Please stay right where you are! There are things back here that I'm saving for your tour tomorrow. I'd hate to ruin it."

"But you're all right then? I thought I heard a girlish scream and-"

The Count gasped and whispered, his voice dismayed, "I do _not_ scream like a girl!" Then he proceeded to stalk around the corner and inform Viktor just how he much he did _not_ scream like a girl.

Hermione jumped quickly in front of him, just out of Viktor's line of sight—"I swear if you take one more step, I'll cover you in glitter myself and throw you to that hungry horde of teenagers so keen to get hold of you."

"You wouldn't!" the Count said, and started forward again.

"This is the first date I have had in two years, and I cannot even begin to tell you the last time I had an orgasm that wasn't self-induced. I am not letting you or anyone else get in my way. Do you know what it is like to go for two years with no male contact?"

"Absolutely not," said the Count snidely. "Men adore me—they worship me, in fact."

"Millions of teenage girls are going to be worshipping you and your sparkle if you take one more step towards my date." Something in her face must have convinced him, because the Count backed down with a disgusted "Hmph" before making his way back downstairs mumbling under his breath the entire way about the indignities of the life of the undead and how women were selfish and vicious creatures.

With the Count out of the way, Hermione composed herself and rounded the corner, putting on her best smile and aiming it at Viktor. "Shall we go?" she said, taking Viktor's proffered arm and exiting the museum.

* * *

They wound up at a small restaurant tucked out of the way called The Vampire's Den. Honestly, there were few things in Transylvania that did not revolve around bloody vampires. Their orders placed, they began to converse…both at once.

"Your English has—"

"You look—"

"—improved."

"—amazing."

They both chuckled and said "thank you" over top of one another.

"You first," Viktor said politely when they both opened their mouths again to speak.

"So what brings you here?" Hermione began.

Viktor looked around the restaurant blankly. "Erm, I invited you here, remember?"

"What? No, I didn't mean _here_, here. Not the restaurant here. I mean of course you invited me _here_. I meant Romania."

A local man heard her faux pas and glared in her direction. "Transylvania," she quickly corrected.

Chuckling, Viktor reached across the table and took her trembling hand. "I was making a joke… apparently not a very good one. But I tried. You seem tense."

"I'm just not used to talking to humans anymore."

Viktor's eyebrow rose quizzically and Hermione rushed to recover from her blunder. "I mean usually it's just me and the dinosaur bones. And they're not, you know, real and I mean there's definitely not anyone else I could be referring to but the dinosaur bones because there's not a vampire in the basement or anyth—I'm just going to hush now." _So much for top secret job assignments!_

"I convinced Harry to tell me where you were," Viktor said, going back to her question.

"So you came here to see me?"

"Of course," Viktor replied. "That is what friends do, yes? Visit one another?"

_Friends?_ DAMN!

The rest of the evening continued on in the same vein. Hermione could not have been more disheartened.

* * *

Hermione arrived back at the museum, hopes deflated and on the verge of tears.

Opening the door to her flat, she found the Count sitting on her sofa. He sighed at her dejected face. "You are home much too early to have had an orgasm," he said matter-of-factly. "I find this greatly disappointing."

"What are you doing in my flat? You never come here. Merlin, most of the time you won't even speak to me."

The Count sighed again. "All you speak is true. But I have grown lonely. And while I typically find you incredibly boring, I thought tonight, after your date with Mr. Delicious, you might have something juicy to talk about. I thought I would give you the benefit of doubt." He paused, seeming to read her face. "I see you have disappointed me. Oh, how I do miss gossip."

Hermione flopped down beside him, and her eyes flooded. "You're disappointed? You're disappointed?" she asked with growing incredulity.

"Yes, I am," the Count replied calmly. "So how does he kiss? Did he use his tongue?"

Hermione went to the cupboard to pour herself a Firewhisky, something she rarely did. She turned to the Count as she turned back her glass, downing the amber liquid in a single swallow. "I am not having this conversation with you!"

The Count tutted in a most annoying way as he shook his head. "You did not even get any kissing with the tongue?" With a look of deep dismay, the Count stood and took Hermione's pink vibrator from his pocket and laid it on the counter. "It appears you are not done with this. I had hoped. I find the pink buzzing stick rather… erm… fascinating. 'Tis a shame you have let me down in such a way."

And with that, the Count left and Hermione broke down in tears. How had this become her life?

* * *

Viktor arrived the next day, again right at closing. She was actually surprised to see him after the awkwardness of the previous evening.

"Viktor, you came!"

"You promised me a tour," he said, his mouth curling up into a winning smile.

It was a rare day. One where a local school had actually brought a class of youngsters to view the museum's meagre exhibits—they were standing around Henrietta, about to disembark. "I'll just see these students out, lock up and then give you a tour, if that's okay?" Hermione said.

"Of course, take your time."

She did a head count, to make sure the Count hadn't hidden away any appetising little morsels for later, and she said a fond farewell to her catatonic-from-boredom visitors.

* * *

Hermione had just got the children gone, the door locked and was hurrying back to Viktor's side when she heard—_no, it couldn't be_—

"She is a nice girl, reasonably nice anyway—you know, a little bitchy sometimes. But she's sexually frustrated, so I'm willing to forgive. But she has no initiative, no social skills at all. Shy, I think. Or maybe just unsure of herself. The child needs some confidence. And she has this strange affection for pink cocks that buzz, but that's another matter entirely—unless your cock is pink—Is it pink? Because then I am certain you are just the wizard for her. And another thing—"

_Oh dear Merlin, it was!_

Hermione ran to try and salvage the situation. The Count had his arm around Viktor's shoulder and was doing his level best to have a heart-to-heart conversation with him.

"What are you doing out of the basement? You are not supposed to show yourself!" Hermione shrieked.

"I am helping you," the Count answered calmly. "Besides, I'm bored. You see, it came to me last night that you are not good at this erm—how to put it delicately?" He gave Viktor a knowing look and rolled his eyes, nodding his head in Hermione's direction. "That one, she is so sensitive," he whispered, his voice coming out in a bit of a hiss. Then he turned back to Hermione. "You are simply terrible at this sexing stuff, and perhaps you need some advice in the ways of men—but since I've come to believe that you are hard in the head—well, it just seemed best that I should talk to your man friend here… as I do know what men like." The Count gave her a knowing wink. "And you clearly need some assistance. You did not even get to the tongue kissing after an entire date. When I would have done that in—well—" The Count grabbed Viktor, clasping both of his palms on Viktor's stubbled cheeks and kissed him hard, shoving his tongue down Viktor's unwilling throat.

Viktor squirmed and struggled, pushing on the Count's chest to free himself, but Dracula held on tight, kissing Viktor rather thoroughly in the process. Then he let go as though nothing had happened and looked at Hermione. "See? That was not so hard at all. You just have to hold on tightly—that one is wiggly—a man could get hurt, you know," he said with derision. "I have a very delicate bone structure. Honestly, some men are barbarians." He gave Viktor a wink. "I like it rough. If she is not your type and you prefer, say, a more worldly _man_, my room is in the—"

"Get in the basement!" Hermione shouted, pointing her finger toward the stairwell.

"I was just getting to that part," the Count replied, snarling his nose. "My room is, as the girl put so well, in the downstairs part of the building. And _I_ am good at more than just the tongue kissing… very, very good." He licked his lips and showed his fangs. "And I bite too… if you want."

Viktor was still wiping at his mouth and doing a good bit of spitting. So the fact that he was able to answer so readily surprised Hermione. "Really? I'd heard that vampires were going vegetarian these days, so that they can—what is the word? Sprinkle?"

"Sparkle," Hermione provided helpfully.

Dracula threw up his hands and stomped his foot in frustration. "That bloody book is a menace," he shouted. "It is ruining the reputations of vampires everywhere. A reputation, I'll have you know, that we worked hard to attain. We are creatures of the night. _Scary_ creatures at that—not cuddly little teddy bears. And we do not fucking sparkle! This madness must be stopped!" he kicked the door, obviously doing more damage to himself than to the wood, as he began shrieking and hopping around holding his injured foot.

"Are you okay," Hermione asked.

"No," the Count said, glaring at her. "I hurt my little piggies!" His attempt to make a dramatic exit was somewhat sullied when his stomp turned into a limp.

Viktor was still staring at the door through which the Count had exited. He turned back toward Hermione, eyes wide, and mouthed, "His piggies?"

"Yes, well, he's not _exactly_ what you'd expect the Prince of Darkness to be, is he?"

"No, I think it is safe to say, _that_ is nothing like I pictured Vlad the Impal—"

"Shush," Hermione said, rushing forward to cover Viktor's mouth. "He hates that name. He's all about the pop culture, and if he hears you he'll—"

"I'm leaving!" The announcement came from somewhere near the top of the stairwell.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Hermione scolded.

"Maybe… a little… but I'm still leaving." The Count's voice was a petulant whine.

"Oh, that doesn't sound good," Hermione said, unable to hide a giggle at the Count's childishness. She shouted at his retreating back. "Don't do anything foolish."

A reply came shortly from somewhere downstairs. "I'm going to plunder and pillage and bite and suck—all those things that _real_ vampires do."

Hermione couldn't resist the retort. "If you wear some glitter while you do it, the kids will just go wild."

There was a loud, "Argh," from below that caused both Viktor and Hermione to laugh, and before she knew what was happening, Viktor had spun her into his arms and his warm lips were upon hers, and he was kissing her, sliding his eager tongue across her lips begging entrance to explore. She opened readily to him, revelling in the heat of Viktor's kiss and the tight feel of his arms wrapping round her. She paid little attention to the bell on the door chiming as the Count made his exit.

"What was that for?" she asked, her breathing heavy when they broke apart.

"That was me breaking the ice. A little bat told me that you needed a good bit of tongue kissing. I regret to inform you, however, that my cock is not pink. Another preference of yours, it seems?" Viktor cocked an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction.

Hermione felt her face flush red in horror. Damn, that Vampire busybody! "Well, that settles it," she said, stepping away from Viktor and brushing her hands together, starting towards the door with a purposeful stride.

"Where are you going?" Viktor asked, his voice reflecting his perplexity.

"To stake a vampire!"

Viktor caught her wrist and reeled her back in. Restraining her, his hand rough from the many years he'd spent playing Seeker, he whispered, "You know, if you do that, I think there would be paperwork required. Piles and piles of parchments to fill out. Then, perhaps a trip to Azkaban, courtesy of the Minister. And really, why would you go down there and bring him back when we could have the place all to ourselves for the night, free of bruised piggies and big-headed Counts?"

"Ourselves and Henrietta," Hermione corrected, but she did relax somewhat in his arms. "However, you _do_ have a point."

Viktor looked around the place, craning his neck this way and that, and finally asked, "Erm, Henrietta?"

"My dinosaur," Hermione said, pointing absentmindedly toward the skeleton as though it were the most natural reference in the world.

Viktor sighed and patted her shoulder. "We really do need to get you out of here more often, love."

"It's true, isn't it?" Hermione said, dismayed at her whining tone. "The dead man in the basement has more of a social life than I have. Hell, he even has droves of adoring teenagers just dying to douse him in glitter and—and—and oh, well they're going to rip him to shreds out there. But at least it's out of love. An insane, unhealthy, completely mental kind of love… but still. Or worse, they might kidnap him and drag him out into the sunlight, and—why did you let him leave again? Minister Shacklebolt's going to kill me!"

"He'll be fine on his own for a single night. He's got a powerful grip," Viktor said, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "And a hell of a tongue."

"Well, you would know." Hermione couldn't resist a grin at the face Viktor pulled.

"I'm sorry to say, I would. A kiss like that could do irreparable damage to my image as a big-shot, world famous Quidditch pro, so I hope your dinosaur's not a nasty gossip."

"No, Henrietta's the strong, silent type. Besides the Count talks enough for all of us."

"I noticed. But you know," Viktor said, wrapping her once more in the warmth of his strong arms, an embrace that could not be termed 'friendly' in the least, "I really didn't come here tonight to talk about the vampire in the basement—"

"Well, how could you have?" Hermione interrupted. "You didn't even know he was there."

"Hermione—" Viktor started.

"You weren't being literal then, were you?"

"No, nor was I being suave, apparently. I used to be so much better at this wooing the ladies thing. It seems I've lost my touch."

"You were wooing me?"

"Well, I was trying."

Hermione tossed a worried glance back at the door, but the vampire in her charge was soon forgotten when Viktor's warm lips descended upon hers once more. His stubble scratched deliciously against her face, and the intensely male scent of him enveloped her, in a heady, weightless feeling of pure bliss. Her knees went weak when Viktor's lips trailed over her jaw line and began to lave her neck with much wanted attention. His arms tightened around her to keep her standing, and she could feel herself flushing with embarrassment, or maybe it was just the heat of someone as virile as Viktor being so near that was making her temperature soar.

Hermione considered moving Viktor towards her flat, but then his tongue dipped into her ear and his teeth nipped at the lobe, and her mind went hopelessly, blissfully blank. She became a puddle of Hermione goo, pliant and desperate for more.

Viktor's lips brushed lightly across hers. "I could kiss you all night," he murmured.

"I can think of so many other things I want you to do than kiss me," she said, her lips working entirely without her brain's permission. "I can't believe I even said that."

She tried to step away from him, but Viktor held fast.

"I like that you say what you want."

Viktor's tongue entering her mouth took away all of her protestations and left her legs feeling so weak and rubbery that she collapsed against him, the sensations assailing her too fast for her numb mind to process them.

"You're heavier than you look," Viktor said, holding her against him.

"It really has been a while since you've done this charming witches thing, hasn't it?"

Not bothering with an answer, it seemed that Viktor's hands were everywhere at once. And they were skilled. Very skilled. He gathered her flush against him, right there in the museum atrium, his lips roaming over her neck, up her chin, teeth nipping, until he was back plundering her mouth with his talented tongue, his knee pressing between her thighs as she ground against him wantonly.

Hermione looked up and stiffened. She said, very quietly, "Viktor, she's watching us."

Shoving her behind him and knocking her to the floor in the process, Viktor crouched low on the balls of his feet, wand at the ready, moving in a blur of speed that Hermione would have thought impossible had she not seen it herself, Viktor bounded forward, eyes scanning the room for danger. "Where are they? Who did you see? Is it one of those vampire-loving crazies?"

Reddening, Hermione bit her lip and looked up from where she still lay in a heap on the floor. "Um, no danger, sorry about that. I didn't mean to give you a fright. It's Henrietta-Henrietta's watching. And I can't do this if she's looking at me."

Sighing, both with relief and frustration, Viktor rubbed his hands down his face, digging his palms into his eye sockets. He dropped down to a crouch beside her. "Could you please never do that again? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." In a conciliatory effort, Hermione reached out a tentative hand and brushed it over his cheek, smiling when he closed his eyes, his beautiful, dark lashes fluttering closed with a sigh when her hand travelled down and pressed flatly over his chest, so that she could feel the rapid beat of his racing heart.

Fingers intertwining with hers, Viktor rose and pulled her up from the floor. "I assume Henrietta can't see us if we're in your flat?"

"Don't be silly, Viktor. It's not like she can _really_ see us. I just can't stand for her to watch. That's all."

"Yes, that's all," Viktor chorused, with a roll of his eyes. "Makes perfect sense now."

"It's just that you make me say and do things I wouldn't normally say or do." She wished she could have the words back the moment they left her lips. But Viktor smiled at her warmly, and she went on. "I'm glad you came to Romania, Viktor."

"Vampire kissing excepting, so am I." And rather than turn towards her flat, Viktor pointed his wand toward Henrietta, effectively blindfolding her skeletal head with something red and satiny, and pushed Hermione up against the wall right there and began to kiss her until she was desperate for air. "The dinosaur cannot see you now," he said, the words coming out between hard pants. "Better?"

"Much." Hermione reached forward and pulled the top button of Viktor's shirt free. "So much better." Arching her neck, she kissed the warm skin she had only just revealed and worked the next button free as well, her tongue following the trail that her hands were blazing, until every last button was free, and Hermione was on her knees before him, dipping her tongue into his navel.

Viktor's hands tangled in her hair, and she found herself growing somewhat nervous that he would expect something from her that she couldn't give. "Viktor," she started, and he looked down at her with half-lidded, lustful eyes.

"Hm?"

"I probably won't be as good at this as some of the girls who followed the Quidditch circuit and I don't want you to be disapp—"

His thumb pressed against her lip. "If I was interested in seeing them, I would not have come to Romania to see you, yes? I certainly did not come for the sights," he said, waving his hand round at the nearly empty museum.

With his words giving her confidence, Hermione pulled his thumb between her lips, sucking it lightly before he took it away, and she grasped the buckle of his belt, freeing it with little difficulty. Viktor's breath hitched when she traced her hand up his protruding bulge, applying light pressure as it climbed towards the head. She unfastened his trousers and his impressive cock sprang free.

"No pants?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow and looking up.

Viktor might have intended a response; it might have even been something witty that was starting to escape from his lips, but Hermione wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock and all that came out was a lusty groan.

Her tongue flicked out to tease him, licking over his slit, and she noted with a bit of pride that his legs were shaking. She opened wide, guiding him in, stroking him with her tongue, and sucking him down her throat. Viktor's slim hips pivoted in time with the rhythm of her suction, his hands pressed flat against the wall for balance. She was enjoying this, enjoying it immensely. She loved having control over a body that was as physically imposing as Viktor's, her own arousal surging as she watched him tremble under the ministrations of her tongue and mouth.

His hips began to speed up and his breathing became laboured, and of course…

…the bell on the door rang and then it clicked shut.

"Oh, my! That is one biteable arse if I ever saw one. Mmm—mmm—mmm. De-lish-us."

Viktor froze. Hermione sighed then looked around Viktor's hips to shoot a death glare toward the entrance.

"Oh, don't mind me," the Count said, walking towards the basement, while keeping his eyes trained on Viktor's bare arse. "I'm just passing through!" he said in a singsong voice. "Sure am glad I took the scenic route though. Dear heavens, I haven't seen a moon like that in ages."

"OUT!" Hermione screamed.

Dracula thumbed his nose at her, but he did move along downstairs, albeit at a rather unhurried pace. Hermione moved to take Viktor back into her mouth, when the Count's voiced advice drifted up to them. "Watch the teeth, dear! They just hate that."

Viktor grabbed Hermione's hand yanking her from her knees. He pulled up his trousers and tugged her toward her flat, muttering about all-seeing dinosaurs and insufferable vampires in between curses.

Hermione led Viktor to her bedroom, being careful to lock the door before they went any farther, and ward it in such a way as to keep out any intrusions. "I'm sorry that this has been—"

Capturing her lips with a feral sound deep in his throat, Viktor commanded her attention. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue warring with hers for dominance in a kiss that was replete with desire. Shrugging off his shirt, Viktor let it drop to the floor. She followed his lead, and their clothes were soon at their feet in a messy heap. Naked before him, she watched as he drank her in, and it was almost as if she could feel his eyes as they roved over her body. She began to tremble, worried that she wouldn't measure up against the countless conquests she was sure he'd had.

Closing the gap between them, Viktor cupped her face and kissed her lightly. "Beautiful," he whispered, brushing her hair off her shoulder. Viktor kissed her again and walked her over to the bed until they both fell down upon it in a tangle of arms and legs.

Viktor fell so that he bore the majority of their weight, and Hermione saw it as an opportunity to explore him. "Stay," she whispered, pushing him to his back and pressing down upon his chest.

"I like it when you are bossy," Viktor said, chuckling when she swatted at him. "I like that even more," he said, grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips.

She jerked her hand away and straddled his waist, leaning forward to kiss him, their lips meeting eagerly as her thumb grazed his nipple. There was a moan of approval, and she made a light circle with her fingertip, feeling the small nub harden beneath her touch.

Hermione's gaze was caught by a tattoo he sported on his abdomen. It was a small Snitch that zigged and zagged back and forth. She tried to stroke it, but each time her hand got near, it would fly away from her, too fast to track. "When did you get this?" she asked.

"One night in a drunken stupor. I've tried to have it removed, but no one's been fast enough to catch it." Viktor's hands were travelling up her thighs as he spoke, kneading, stroking, raising goosebumps on her heated skin. His wandering hands wound their way around her hips, kneading and pinching her bum, then ghosted their way up her torso so that he could palm each breast.

Hermione arched her back into his touch, nearly purring when he pinched her nipples into hard points. Before she knew what was happening, Viktor had rolled her to her back and was pressing her into the mattress. "Enough exploring. Time for that later." His well-practised English had dissolved into a plethora of broken phrases and ragged breaths. "Want you now."

His mouth closed over her right breast as his fingers delved into her curls, finding her clit with a deftness that no lover had ever shown. She dug her heels into the bed, bucking against his hand encouraging him to continue those small, precise, fucking wonderful circles on her clit with his Quidditch-callused hand. He slid two fingers into her and she gasped when he crooked his fingers and began to work them back and forth, in and out, searching it seemed for—_oh, that_. Hermione's hips rose off the bed and she mewled at the sensations he was evoking from her body.

"There?" he whispered, his teeth nipping her ear.

"Mmmm," Hermione had gone past the point where words were possible at the moment, working her hips in tandem with Viktor's amazing fingers. He brought her just to the edge twice, pulling back and making her whimper.

"Wait for me, love," Viktor said. "It will be better together, yes?"

Hermione puffed out her lip when his fingers once more left her wanting. "I'll wait for you next time," she replied with a nod of such enthusiasm that Viktor acquiesced.

"Fair enough, my eager Hermione." His fingers began once more working their magic, only this time when she was losing all feeling in her legs, tingling all over from jolts of pleasure that pulsed throughout her body, Viktor didn't pull back. His kiss was savage, biting at her lip and drawing blood when he said, "Come for me."

And come, she did. Hard and loud, uttering words that normally would have embarrassed her. The pleasure was so intense that she saw spots before her eyes; Hermione clung to Viktor, grasping at anything that might anchor her to this world, for surely that was far too spectacular for her to still be on solid ground.

"Holy—Oh. My. God." She cupped his face and kissed him, a kiss of wonder and gratitude all rolled into one. "Amazing."

"We're not done yet, Hermy-own-ninny." She felt her heart tug at the long ago name he'd struggled so hard to say, and she smiled at how he had lost his hold over his own tongue, reverting back to sparse, guttural English in the heat of the moment.

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, tossing back her head when Viktor slid into her, loving the way he filled her completely. His mouth attached to the base of her throat, tasting her skin as he laid claim to her body, taking her as his own. She dug her fingernails into Viktor's shoulders, sliding them down his back as he increased his thrusts, watching him as every emotion crossed his face, unable to look away from the shifting of expressions. The way the muscles in his back would tighten under her hands, and the sight of his tongue slipping out to flick over his lower lip in an unconscious gesture were the most erotic things Hermione had ever seen… and she would have been content to watch him all night.

Until his thumb pressed against her clit, and her eyes fluttered shut; he was teasing her clit slowly in direct contradiction to his rapid thrusts, and driving her quickly toward that ledge she'd only just come down from moments before. Viktor's forehead came to rest against the side of her head, his breath hot against her ear. "Fuck—Fuck, fuck, fuck." He slammed into her with every word. Viktor, always the gentleman, was losing all semblance of control, coming apart in her arms, and Hermione felt empowered holding him against her. She tightened her thighs around him, arching to meet him thrust for thrust and found that she, too, was losing her resolve. She reached between them and pushed Viktor's hand away, stroking her clit in exactly the way she liked.

And that gesture was Viktor's final undoing, feeling her hand brush against him as she pleasured herself. He came hard, shuddering in her arms, and kissing her hard, all teeth and tongues clashing, as Hermione followed him over into a blissful climax.

Rolling to his side, Viktor pulled her to him, gathering her against the hard muscle of his chest and kissing the top of her head. "That was—"

Viktor never got a chance to finish the sentence; the door flew open to the bedroom and the Count sashayed in. "Fin-a-lee. I didn't think you were ever going to be done."

"WHAT? You were outside listening to us?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Of course," he replied, looking at her like she had three heads. "How else would I know that you were finished?" He strode to her bureau and pulled open her underwear drawer as though it was a totally normal thing for him to do and pawed around.

"Get out of there! I warded that door against you!"

"Well, dear, you might want to work on that ward. And I will get out," he said scrounging deeper through her unmentionables, pulling out a pair of white cotton briefs and snarling at them before tossing them aside, "in just a—" Hermione's pillow slammed hard into the back of the Count's head. "Now, see, that was just uncalled for," he said, tsking at her. Then he plucked out her pink vibrator with a look of pure joy and bowed at them both. "Now that you won't be needing this anymore…"

And the Count turned on his heel and walked out the door, closing it with a quiet click behind him.

"Do you still have that stake?" Viktor turned his head and asked. "I think it might be worth a trip to Azkaban."

Hermione met his eyes and they both began to laugh, then Viktor kissed her tenderly, his lips warming her heart. "My hero," she said.

"Awwww," came the voice on the other side of the door.

"I'll get the stake," Hermione said.


End file.
